The morning fog still clung low to the mountain roads by the time Riku finished his deliveries.
The world was starting to wake up, the first trucks groaning up the slope toward the city, the first joggers huffing along the shoulder.
Riku parked the Prelude at the station's side lot and sat there for a moment, engine ticking in the cool air.
He listened — to the idle heartbeat of the engine, to the faint buzz of early insects, to the world slowly stirring.
It was peaceful.
It was enough.
Or it would have been, if Tatsuya hadn't come flying around the corner like a madman.
"You're coming tonight," he said, not bothering with hello.
He slapped his palm against the hood of the Prelude like it was a horse that needed waking.
Riku gave him a look.
"You're coming," Tatsuya repeated, more firmly.
"There's a meet at the old quarry lot, just past Kurokawa bend. Real racers this time, not the punk kids from the station."
"I'm working," Riku said, reaching for his backpack.
"I already talked to your old man," Tatsuya said with a smug grin. "You're off tonight."
Riku paused. That was suspicious.
His father — Mr. Aoyama — was not the kind of man who gave time off lightly.
He must've been in on whatever Tatsuya was scheming.
"And what do you expect me to do at this 'meet'?" Riku asked.
"Watch!" Tatsuya said, arms wide like he was unveiling a grand secret. "Or drive. You know, casually destroy someone."
Riku shook his head.
He had no business getting involved with street racers.
He wasn't a racer.
He was just… him.
A kid who happened to know how to handle a car better than most. That was all.
Still —
Something tugged at him.
Something restless and unseen.
The same feeling he got on the road when everything clicked, when car and driver became one breath, one motion.
He hated that feeling.
He loved that feeling.
---
The night came heavy and slow, dragging clouds across the stars like a funeral shroud.
Riku sat in his room, staring at the Prelude's keys sitting on his desk.
He could still back out.
Tatsuya would probably show up anyway, screaming at him from the driveway like a maniac until his father threatened to hose him down.
He could stay home.
Safe.
Invisible.
He picked up the keys.
---
The old quarry lot was already buzzing when Riku arrived, idling at the edge of the chaos.
Cars lined the cracked pavement like wolves circling a fire — RX-7s, Silvia Ks, a scattering of Civics and Levins.
The air was thick with smoke, burnt rubber, and the crackling tension of egos waiting to collide.
Someone was blasting city pop from the back of a trunk.
Someone else was trying — and failing — to light a cigarette in the wind.
Eyes turned toward Riku as he pulled in.
He felt them — measuring, judging.
The Prelude was clean, but not flashy.
It didn't have the bulging bodykits, the screaming decals.
It looked like a leftover from another time.
He killed the engine and sat there for a long moment, the keys heavy in his hand.
"Yo, you made it!" Tatsuya appeared at his window, grinning so wide his cheeks looked ready to split.
"Come on, come on, you gotta meet the guys!"
Riku sighed and pushed open the door.
The world was loud, raw, alive around him.
He followed Tatsuya into the crowd, feeling every stare cling to his back like hooks.
He didn't belong here.
Not yet.
But somewhere deep inside — where the mist and the asphalt met — something inside him stirred.
A hunger he didn't yet understand.
And the mountain was waiting.
Always waiting.